


Chinese New Year

by ghostlyfroggy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, not a main character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlyfroggy/pseuds/ghostlyfroggy
Summary: Tommy has long given up on finding a “forever home”, or whatever bullshit the system wants him to find. He’s a lot more focused on making it to 18 and getting the fuck out, finally being able to legally take care of himself. Tommy thinks this is total bullshit, because he’s been taking care of himself since he was 5 goddamn years old, and he thinks he’s done a pretty good job, thank you very fucking much.Or, Tommy is just a kid in need of love, and the sleepy bois can give that to him.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 109
Kudos: 804





	1. Chapter 1

Tommy is what the system likes to call, “a bit of a problem child.” Tommy likes to roughly translate that to, “badass motherfucker.” His record is long, recording every stupid stunt he’s pulled and every shit home he’s been through. And he’s been through a lot.  
  
To be specific, he’s been through eight homes since he was put, well, forced, into foster care at the age of nine. He’s 15 now, and he has no plans of slowing his long growing list of grievances against him.  
  
Tommy has long given up on finding a “forever home”, or whatever bullshit the system wants him to find. He’s a lot more focused on making it to 18 and getting the fuck out, finally being able to legally take care of himself. Tommy thinks this is total bullshit, because he’s been taking care of himself since he was 5 goddamn years, and he thinks he’s done a pretty good job, thank you very fucking much.  
  
Overlooking the fact that he has a criminal record and a bit of an annoying tendency to be a fucking bitch, he likes to think he’s an ok kid. Definitely not what most foster parents are looking for, but that's their problem, not his. He’s only looking to survive, not please whatever bastards choose to deal with him.  
  
Speaking of bastards who choose to deal with him, there’s one at his current group home right now. His social worker told him that she was meeting with a man interested today, and if it went well Tommy would be introduced to the man after the two talk.  
  
His social worker also mentioned something about two sons, and despite his best efforts, he’s fuckin’ nervous, ok? He doesn’t really do well with other kids, not after house number five.  
  
Now, look. Tommy isn’t one of those kids to start shit right off the bat. He’s not gonna be a total dickhead to someone he’s just met, but if prompted, he will start stabbin' shit, no big deal. He’s not an idiot, he doesn’t actively try to ruin his chances with potential fosters, it’s just his personality.  
  
He picks at his nails, half hoping that the man and his probably perfect kids take one look at his inch thick file and get the fuck out of there. He’s not in the mood for false hope.  
  
He’s sitting on his bed, in a room he shares with another kid, a guy who’s 17 and a week from aging out of the system. The guy is alright, they’ve barely spoken, and Tommy appreciates the fact that he’s never around, giving him the pseudo-sense that the room is all his.  
  
He glances at the bag he has half shoved under the shitty bed, the bag that has been with him through pretty much everything, and the bag that he has never, ever fully unpacked, no matter how nice the foster family seemed. They always turned, none of them could deal with him forever. They were all the same, more or less.  
  
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a knock at his door, and when he looks up his social worker is standing in the door frame.  
  
“The meeting went well,” She starts, and Tommy can’t tell if the swirling feeling in his stomach is dread or excitement. “They want to meet you.”  
  
Ah, right. The dude had kids. Maybe he could just tough it out, get through the first meeting, stay there a few months, and then dip before they get too bad. Has he mentioned he’s also what the system likes to call “a flight risk”?  
  
He nods at her tersely, and slowly slides off the bed, following the woman down the hall and into her office. His nerves are sky-rocketing, no matter how many times he’s gone through this process it always manages to get his anxiety going.  
  
There are two teenage boys sitting in the chairs across from the desk, and a slightly older man leaning against the wall next to them. One of the boys looks about 17, while the other one is maybe 18 or 19. It doesn’t matter much. The younger of the two has long, gangly limbs, and a beanie shoved haphazardly over curly brown hair. The one next to him looks bored, long pink hair shoved into a messy bun.  
  
“Your hair is fucking pink?” Tommy blurted, and then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, because what the shit, is he trying to get his ass kicked? This is going horribly already and he’s the only one who’s spoken so far, great.  
  
The one with curly hair bursts out laughing, and the older man, presumably their dad, cracks a smile. He has a kind face, Tommy notes, but immediately shoves the thought down, because going off looks is what gets you in some really shitty homes. He would know. The man has short blonde hair, and a green bucket hat covers his head, which, who the fuck wears bucket hats anymore?  
  
“Well, this is going splendid already,” Pink hair speaks up, and Tommy remembers, right, he’s just insulted this dude without even meaning to.  
  
“No- I. I meant it looks cool. I’ve never met anyone with pink hair before.” He says lamely, rubbing at his knuckles with his thumb nervously.  
  
“I’m Tommy.” He announces when no one says anything, desperately trying to fill the silence. Blonde haired man smiles at him encouragingly.  
  
“I’m Phil, and these two are my sons, Wilbur,” He points to beanie kid, “and Techno.” He points to pink haired guy.  
  
“Your name is fucking Techno?!” Tommy exclaims, completely forgetting the lesson he’d learned only a few seconds ago. “That is so fucking cool.” He breathes out, and immediately decides Techno is his favorite.  
  
Techno is looking slightly less bored, and Wilbur is grinning widely at him. Phil looks like he’s trying not to laugh.  
  
“What about Wilbur,” beanie kid whines out, throwing a hand over his eyes dramatically, “No one ever tells me my hair or name is cool.”  
  
“Well you don’t have pink hair or a cool name.” He points out, trying to stifle his pride when Techno breaks into a grin.  
  
“Fuck yes, I’m the favorite already. Suck it, Wilbur.” His voice is deep, monotone, and Tommy bounces on his toes in excitement. This is going well, right?  
  
“So, Tommy,” Phil starts, and he’s brought slightly back to the present. He shouldn’t be putting so much trust in these people, for all he knows if they take him in he’s going to immediately get his ass kicked. He stops bouncing, his nervousness coming back. “Tell us about yourself mate.”  
  
The man sounds sincere, but the question makes Tommy curl in on himself even more. He never really knows how to answer this question, there isn’t much to tell, he’s just some dumb kid drifting from place to place until he’s finally freed on his eighteenth birthday.  
  
“Um,” He starts intelligently, biting his lip as he stares at the ground, “I’m 15. I like video games.” He trails into an uncomfortable silence, he really isn’t sure what to say other than that. “I don’t um, have many hobbies I guess.” He ends, cursing himself. He was not “selling himself” as his social worker liked to put it, who was in fact sitting at her desk looking vaguely frustrated with his less than stellar social skills.  
  
“Tommy is a very bright young man, he can do very well in school when he tries, he’s just been in some… difficult situations lately.” His social worker cuts in, and Tommy looks up from the floor to see Wilbur staring at him. He blinks at him, before looking away quickly. He was not getting into some weird staring match with the kid who looked like he was eight feet fucking tall when unfolded, no thank you.  
  
His social worker continues on, and Tommy forgot how much he hated this part, when they talk about his private issues so openly, when he’s right fucking there, no less. “He has a good sense of humor, and he can be a really good kid, he just has a few quirks we have to discuss. Seriously? Quirks? What, was he fucking five?  
  
“I have a criminal record,” He blurts, not caring how Phil turns towards him quickly, “It’s not a quirk, it makes me a fuckin’ problem child.” Sure, sue him for bending to the system’s dumb terminology, but he wanted these fuckers to know exactly what they were dealing with before they took him in.  
  
His social worker sighs, looking tired. “Yes, Tommy has a bit of a criminal record, but nothing too serious. Petty crime like vandalism and disrupting public peace.”  
  
“And assault,” He butts in, because for fucks sake, is she really trying to sugar coat this? Techno looks mildly interested, and Wilbur is suddenly looking at him like he’s gonna jump him at any second.  
  
“Who’d you beat up?” Techno asks, and Wilbur smacks him upside the head, clearly gently and in a playful manner, but Tommy freezes immediately, shrinking against the wall and blinking owlishly at Phil. The man in question freezes, and shoots Wilbur a look that would probably send Tommy into a panic attack if it had been directed at him.  
  
He pulls himself out of his panic, remembering Techno’s question, and decides it’d be best to clear things up before they think he’s some sort of unstable kid with anger issues. Not that he isn’t, but they don’t need to know that just yet.  
  
“Some guy from my school insulted my mom,” He mumbles, glaring at the floor as he remembers the situation, “So I broke his fucking nose.” He can practically hear his social worker having a heart attack, and he silently apologizes to her for having to deal with him.  
  
“Nice.” Techno says simply, and Phil looks pained, rubbing at his temples. Tommy looks up sharply, meeting the eyes of Techno, who’s grinning at him. He blinks, and smiles tentatively back.  
  
“I like him,” Wilbur announces, as if he hadn’t just looked like he was dead scared of him, “Can we take him home?” What? That’s it, is it really that easy? He whips his head around to look at Phil, silently begging.  
  
He knew he’d been apprehensive earlier, but they truly did seem cool, and none of his usual alarm bells were going off. He’d never clicked with kids around his age this quickly before, and he’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t feel good.  
  
Phil nods slowly, giving him a small smile. “If Tommy is ok with that, then I don’t see any problem with taking him in.” Tommy scrunches his eyebrows, looking at his social worker. He gets a say in the matter? This has never happened before.  
  
“I, um, yeah, that sound, that sounds good. Nice. Yeah.” He stops himself before he can make a bigger fool out of himself, trying to wipe the large smile from his face.  
  
“Are you sure,” His social worker cuts in, and suddenly his stomach is sinking, because right, she hadn’t filled them in fully on what a shit kid he was, “There are other things you need to be aware of before you can sign to take him, like his habit of running from families. He’s a bit of a flight risk, especially on the first night.”  
  
There’s a short, uncomfortable silence before Tommy decides he needs a break, and if they’re going to talk about him, they might as well do it when he’s not present.  
  
“I’m going to the bathroom. You can talk about me while I’m in there.” He says shortly, turning and heading out of the room before his social worker can protest.  
  
He walks into a stall and locks the door with shaking hands. They’re never gonna take him in now. They’re gonna be filled in on all his issues, and then they’re going to fuck right off and he’s never going to see too-tall Wilbur or kind Phil or badass Techno again. Yeah, Techno was definitely his favorite.  
  
He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the door opens, and he sees someone with clunky combat boots walk in and stop at the first sink. He knows who it is before he even opens the door.  
  
Techno doesn’t look up as he exits the stall, instead focused on his reflection as he fixes his messy bun, seemingly only succeeding in messing it up more.  
  
“They like you, you know. Whatever shit you carry, Phil isn’t gonna care. We were all fucked up when we joined him.” Tommy blinks, processing.  
  
“You guys aren’t his biological sons?” Techno laughs at that, not unkindly, and turns to look at him for the first time.  
  
“No, we were both foster kids like you. We were younger than you are now when we joined him, he took me in when I was 12 and Wilbur a year or two later when he was 13.”  
  
Tommy nods, not really sure what to say. He starts washing his hands, picking at a scab around his cuticle as he does so.  
  
“Do you really think my name is cool?” Techno asks suddenly, and Tommy looks over at him, a slight smile making its way onto his face.  
  
“Yeah, it's badass dude, and your hair is pink? Badass central. Makes you look like an anime protagonist or some shit” Techno grins at him, and nods towards the door. “Let’s head back, ok?”  
  
Tommy leads the way back to the office, as he knows the layout better than Techno. Before they reach the door however, voices from inside stop him in his tracks.  
  
He freezes, and Techno nearly bumps into him, opening his mouth to say something before closing it and listening along with him.  
  
“He’s got a lot of baggage,” he can hear his social worker saying, “His birth parents were incredibly abusive, and though he might not show it, he holds a lot of trauma. He’s had bad past experiences in other houses too, but most notably is his time with his fifth foster family, which ended when-” Enough. He pushes the door open, standing stiffly in the doorway.  
  
The three of them look up, and his social worker looks at him with apologetic eyes. Phil gives him a gentle look, his eyes sad, and Tommy looks away bitterly. He doesn’t want their fucking pity, it won’t do him any good, that’s for sure.  
  
There’s a terse silence, and then his social worker clears her throat.  
  
“Tommy, Mr. Watson here,” She gestures towards Phil, “says he is willing to take you in if you’re ok with that.” He’s still kind of recovering from her earlier words, and it takes a second for her sentence to set in, but when it does his eyes widen and he whips towards Phil.  
  
“Seriously? Still?” He gasps out, no one had ever been so sure about wanting to take him in after they learn his grocery list of emotional baggage.  
  
Phil nods. “Of course, we’d be ready to take you home today if that’s what you want. No pressure though, if you need time to think-”  
  
“Yes,” He cuts in, beginning to bounce on his toes again, “Yeah, I mean, if that’s actually ok, I’m already packed-” Tommy is rambling at this point, but he can’t help it, ok? No one had ever looked over his file and still wanted him.  
  
He turns to his social worker. “Can I?” He ignores the churning in his stomach as he’s reminded of the times when he was young, tugging on his mother’s sleeve and asking her if he can go do whatever the shit he had been up to at that age.  
  
She’d always shooed him off, telling him she didn’t care as long as he didn’t get her in any trouble. As a kid, that’d always make him puff out his chest and promise her he wouldn’t let her down. He supposes he broke that promise to her.  
  
He swallows roughly and forces himself back into the present. His social worker is giving the papers one last look over, probably checking to make sure everything is signed. When she’s finished, she looks up at him, and gives him a slight nod.  
  
He breaks into a grin and takes off to his room, stooping down and dragging his backpack out from under his bed. When he looks up, Wilbur is standing in the doorway, and good god, he is so much taller than Tommy had assumed. He towers over him a way that makes him nervous, though he’d never admit it. His dad was tall, but not in the way Wilbur is, he was tall in the way that he took up space, all broad shoulders and muscles.  
  
It makes Tommy relax slightly, the strict contrast in build, and he gives Wilbur a questioning look.  
  
“I just wanted to tell you that Phil thinks you’re cool, we all do. Just- don’t cause shit for us, ok? Don’t give Phil unnecessary shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass.”  
  
Tommy flinches at the words, body going into halfway panic mode, because oh fuck, his dad used to say shit like this, this is exactly how it would go, he was fucked, he-  
  
Wilbur cuts in, looking very alarmed, “Shit, I didn’t mean to freak you out, well, I did, but not this hard, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Now they’re both semi-panicking, Tommy desperately trying to calm himself down while Wilbur furiously tries to backtrack.  
  
He manages to catch his breath, finally, and gives Wilbur a nod. “I won’t fuck with Phil as long he doesn’t fuck with me.” That seems to calm the other boy down significantly, and he receives a nod back.  
  
“Phil doesn’t tend to fuck with people, so you should be good. And, uh, sorry about that.” Wilbur gives him a sheepish grin and Tommy grins back. “It happens.” He concedes, and Wilbur nods towards the entrance of the group home.  
  
“Come on, they’re waiting,” Tommy starts down the hall, and when they’re about to reach the threshold, Wilbur stops him. “And Tommy? Don’t worry.”


	2. Chapter 2

The house is nice. A little too nice, if you asked Tommy. Too nice for a scrappy kid like him. He even has his own room, which is something he’s never had in a foster home before.  
  
He had his own bed, his own drawers, he even had a few new pieces of clothing, which Tommy made a point to wear when he was alone in his room and no one could see.  
  
It had been a few days since he came to stay with Phil, and he was beginning to become suspiciously wary, more so than he usual was.  
  
They were too nice to him. Sure, Wilbur called him a gremlin and Techno called him a child, but they weren’t mean to him. Not like he was used to.  
  
He had very few frames of reference, but his two times staying with fosters who had kids were downright terrifying, and even a big man like Tommy can admit to it.  
  
Both houses had been nightmares, leaving imprints on him that he’d probably never shake off. He doesn’t want to think of either of them right now, but his point still stands. They’re too nice.  
  
Right now he’s sitting in his bed (his bed!), reading one of the comics he’d bought with him. He had a small collection of comics from his childhood, and he’d lost one or two copies throughout the years, but the ones he still had he held close to his heart.  
  
He’d already read all of them of course, dozens of times at this point, but he still liked to read through them when he had a moment to himself, which seemed to be happening a lot more these days.  
  
He reaches the end of the comic in his hand and he turns and carefully tucks it into his bag. He still hasn’t unpacked, not fully, he permanently has at least one outfit in his bag in case he has to run on short notice.  
  
He hasn’t received any sort of indication that he might have to yet, but he’ll never allow his guard to fall over a family seeming genuine on the first few days. They always do.  
  
A sharp knock on his door brings him out of his thoughts, and he calls out to let themselves in.  
  
Wilbur’s head pokes around the doorway, giving Tommy a grin when he locates him. “Dinner is ready,” He says, and waits patiently for Tommy to uncurl himself from his place in bed before disappearing from view, the sound of footsteps on stairs telling him he’d gone back downstairs.  
  
That was another thing that was different about this house. They had family dinner. Actual family dinner, where everyone sat at a table and ate and no one yelled or sat in almost painful silence until being excused. It almost freaked Tommy out, how normal it all seemed. How safe it seemed.  
  
He hadn’t bothered to ask Wil what they were having for tonight, but it doesn’t actually matter to him too much. Phil’s food has proven to be delicious, and even if it wasn’t, Tommy was used to forcing food down for the sake of keeping hunger at bay.  
  
He rounds the bend into the living room and sees Phil setting food out, and a quick peek tells him they’re having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.  
  
Tommy slips into the chair that was deemed his, across from Phil with Wilbur and Techno sitting diagonal to him.Techno shows up a second later, sinking into his chair, and dinner begins.  
  
“So how were your guys’ days?” Phil asks, and this is good, this an easy question Tomy can answer, so he speaks up first. “Mine was good, I pretty much just read my comics.” Phil hums, giving him a smile, which he tentatively returns.  
  
Wilbur talks about learning a new song and Techno rambles about competing with some kid over a new assignment, some sort of grade rivalry that Tommy doesn’t even try to pretend to understand.  
  
“So Tommy,” Phil starts, and he pauses, midway through chewing. “Your social worker enrolled you in school, are you ok with starting Monday?” It was Saturday now.  
  
School has always been a fickle thing for Tommy. Don’t get him wrong, he liked learning, but he tended to have a bit of a rough time when it came to other kids.  
  
Despite his height, he seemed to be an easy target at first, at least, until they realized he wasn’t afraid to start a physical fight wherever they may be, whether that be a classroom or the middle of a crowded hallway, Tommy didn’t give a shit.  
  
His last home had simply made him do his classes online, which was fine by Tommy. If it meant he didn’t have to deal with stuck up kids thinking they were better than him because they had a mom or dad to run home to, he was down.  
  
“That’s fine with me,” He mutters once he’d finished chewing his food, suddenly not very hungry anyway. “Is there anything you need to shop for in terms of school supplies or otherwise? Do you need or want any new clothes?” Phil asks, and Tommy just shakes his head.  
  
“May I be excused? He asks, standing up before he gets a reply. When Phil nods, he puts his plate in the sink and escapes to his room. The idea of school has ruffled him, and he is suddenly faced with reality.  
  
School meant bullies, and fights, and calls home, and Tommy hadn’t seen Phil mad yet, but he figures it’s only a matter of time before it happens. The nice ones always hit the hardest, he’s learned, and he’s not quite keen on finding out just how hard Phil can hit. He seems to bring out the worst in people.  
  
He burrows into his bed, that doesn’t feel like his own anymore, the magic peeling away to show off the rusty underside of reality. He shouldn’t put so much faith in one home, he’s learned this lesson so many times before, so why has it seemed he forgot it?  
  
He tears at his hair, tears welling up. It’s such a stupid thing to be upset over, such a horrid time for him to remember he is a temporary child. He will never find his forever home, and the faster he accepts that the less he’ll end up heartbroken.  
  
The thing about Tommy was, no matter how much he paraded around the facade that he didn’t care, that he had no hope or no plans to be adopted, he really, truly, did. He wanted to be one of those kids who found people who loved him, who treated him like he were biological, who actually wanted him.  
  
But those hopes and secret yearnings were what always caused him to get hurt, and he pulls his hands from his hair, chewing anxiously at his fingers instead, the taste of iron filling his mouth as he pulls at a hangnail too hard, exposing a new layer of skin.  
  
He heaves himself out of bed, taking inventory of his bag, going through his items, trying to ground himself. Once he’s finished that, he peeks his head out of his always closed door, peering into the hallway. It seems like dinner has ended, an unknown amount of time has lapsed since he abruptly left the table.  
  
He needs air, he feels trapped suddenly, his breath coming to him a second too late. He slips down the stairs quietly, socks muffling any noise he would’ve otherwise made.  
  
He snags his dirty converse from their spot by the door and tugs them on, realizing he left his coat upstairs when he opens the front door and is met with frigid air.  
  
It’s too late now to go retrieve it, he reasons, and slips out the door, heading in the direction he knows is town. He’ll be back before anyone notices he’s gone.

\---

In short, Tommy’s shoddy plan falls apart immediately, to the surprise of absolutely no one, not even Tommy himself.  
  
He’d gone into a store to get out of the cold, a record store to be specific, and he swears he’d been minding his own business, just browsing the records and relishing in the color coming back to his cheeks.  
  
He had been minding his business, until a group of boys had come in, loud and shoving each other to get through the door, and Tommy doesn’t even have to properly assess them before knowing they were going to be trouble. He was right.  
  
They had made their way over to him, whispering to each other, laughing and clearly making the store clerk wary. One of them had bumped into him as they passed by, forcefully and definitely not by mistake.  
  
He’d turned, baring his teeth at them, and they’d laughed, and taunted him, and word around this town must travel quickly, because they already knew he was staying with Phil.  
  
“One of Phil’s new rejects, huh?” One of them had sneered, and Tommy shoved him, hard, causing him to stumble back, recovering with a nasty look on his face.  
  
“Take it outside.” The clerk ordered, and the boys shot him murderous looks before filing out the store. Tommy had stayed for a second or two, picking up the record that had fallen from his hands and replacing it, muttering a quick apology to the young man behind the counter before leaving the store, the rush of cold air meeting him again, as well as the same group of boys from before.  
  
It’s so cliche he almost laughs. He’s in an alley, with the group of boys, four or so, he notes, trapping him in, and fighting is almost second nature to him at this point, and he’s cold, and wants to get this over with, so he throws the first punch.  
  
All in all he doesn’t fare too bad, not to say he’d won, he most certainly hadn’t, but Tommy had gotten a few hits in, drew some blood. It’d been going pretty typical for a fight until the one kid pulled a fucking switchblade (Are you serious? A fucking switchblade?), and it had kinda gone to shit from there.  
  
So here he was, sitting on the curb near that damned record store, spitting blood and nursing several more bruises than he’d had. He had a shallow cut on his ribs, from where the switchblade had nicked him, along with bruises from when he’d gotten kicked after he’d fallen.  
  
He wasn’t sure how he was going to get back to Phil’s house. It was a lot later than he’d hoped, the sky almost completely black, and they had definitely noticed his disappearance.  
  
He didn’t have a phone, practically never had, except for one of the houses when they had thought he might need it, but they had wanted it back when they kicked Tommy out.  
  
Going into the store and asking to use their phone was off the table too, because he couldn’t for the life of him remember the number Phil had said his cellphone was.  
  
So he resolved to sitting on the curb, bleeding everywhere, scowling at anyone who gave him a weird look. Speaking of weird looks, this one dude had been staring at him from across the street for some time now, a phone to his ear.  
  
He was wearing a green hoodie, a stupid looking smiley face appeared to be crudely drawn on the front with sharpie. The next time the guy looked up, Tommy made sure to make eye contact and spit more blood on the ground.  
  
That seemed to do the trick, the guy turning away, saying something into his phone before hanging up. Well, he thought it had done the trick, but apparently not, because the guy was crossing the street and heading straight for him.  
  
He stands, cursing whatever fucker was up in the sky looking down on him, because if this dude wanted a fight Tommy wasn’t sure he could give it to him. He looked much older than the boys he’d fought before, who’d been about his age, and his build indicated he was fit enough to do damage if Tommy wasn’t already fucked up, let alone if he could barely stand without having a nasty ache in his head.  
  
“Are you Techno’s brother?” The guy asked, coming to stand on the sidewalk a few feet away from him. “What’s it to you?” He sneers, wiping at his sluggishly bleeding nose.  
  
The guy sighs, looking tired. “I’m friends with Techno, they’re looking for you. Something about a tall motherfucker who looked like he would fight you if you looked at him wrong. So I’m assuming you’re Tommy.”  
  
“I resent that,” Tommy responded, slumping against the light pole as he deemed the guy not a threat. If Techno had cared enough to call people, that meant that he had disturbed their night, and they were probably pissed as all hell. He curses himself, he hadn’t even had to go to school to get them angry, it seemed.  
  
The guy sends something out on his phone, glancing up at Tommy, looking him up and down while Tommy snarled at him. “I’m Dream,” He introduced, “Your family is on the way.” He spit more blood at his feet (damn his stupid braces for cutting up the inside of his mouth), and muttered, “They aren’t my family. I’ll be gone within a month, just wait.”  
  
Dream raises his eyebrows at that, but says nothing more, just glancing at his phone every so often, and sending a text or two.  
  
After an awkward few minutes, a car that he recognized as Phil’s came into view, pulling up against the curb. The window rolled down and Phil nodded to the back seat, saying nothing.  
  
That alone freaked him out, and he scrambled into the backseat, not expecting to see Wilbur sitting there too, in the seat behind Technoblade, who was also there. Oh, Tommy had really fucked it this time. They were gonna send him back as soon as they got back, they had realized he was more than he was worth.  
  
“Thank you Dream.” Phil says, voice hard, and he shrinks into himself even more. He was so fucked. The car ride back is almost dead silent, apart from Tommy sniffling, trying to keep blood from getting on the seats.  
  
They arrive at the house, sitting dark and silent, and Tommy scrambles out of the car, happy to be out of the suffocating silence.  
  
Phil leads him inside, sitting him at a stool in the middle of a kitchen, setting down a first aid kit on the counter.  
  
“Where are you injured besides your face?” The question is blunt, and he almost flinches at the tone, but eyes the floor and responds, “My ribs, but that’s about it.” He receives a nod in return. He’s still looking at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with any of the three in the room.  
  
“Can you remove your shirt so I can make sure your ribs aren’t broken?” Another question from Phil, said softer this time. He tenses slightly, debating whether or not it’s worth it. He ultimately decides that he’s tired, and if Phil wants to looks at his fucked up ribs, fine.  
  
He carefully removed his now ruined shirt (He mourns the loss), hissing when it brushes his split lip. He still refuses to look up from the floor, listening to Wilbur’s barely concealed gasp.  
  
He has scars covering the entire expanse of his back. He doesn’t like to think about them, but they’re there, just as there as his fingers or arms. Raised white bumps, criss crossing and overlapping, darker lines which haven’t fully healed, recent incidents.  
  
He’s quiet as Phil gently raises his chin to get a better look at his face, screwing his eyes shut as his face is dabbed by an alcohol pad, flinching slightly every time it touches his skin. Finally, after Phil is done with his face and has moved onto the shallow cut along his ribs, the man speaks.  
  
“What happened?” He asks, voice low, and Tommy is hurt, and he’s tired, and he really just wants to go to bed. He barely has the energy to talk, but he does anyway, voice flat and hoarse as he explains what happened.  
  
His head is drooping, and he almost yelps in surprise when his head falls against Phil’s shoulder, pulling away so fast he almost falls out of the stool, Techno’s hand coming up to steady him, the older’s bare hand between his shoulder blades, and he flinches away from that touch too, chest heaving with panic.  
  
Phil shushes him gently, smoothing a bandage over the cut on his ribs before turning to Wilbur, who had left the room without Tommy even noticing. Wilbur hands over a hoodie, and Phil holds it out to Tommy, who takes it with a confused look.  
  
“It’s one of Wilbur’s, it might be a little big but I didn’t want to go through your room for clothes without permission.” He nods, slowly, before pulling it over his head, burrowing into the fleece with a barely contained sigh of relief.  
  
“I’m not mad at you,” Phil says, startling Tommy out of his tired thoughts, “We were just worried. We thought you had run-” He winces at that, but he doesn’t quite blame them, “But your bag was still in your room, so Techno and Wilbur called their friends and asked any of them if they had seen you. And Dream had.” He nods again, staring at his hands. Eye contact wasn’t a big strong suit of his, it made him antsy.  
  
“I’m sorry,” He chokes out, tears brimming, and he hastily swipes them away, embarrassed, tired, and in pain. “Didn’t mean to make you worry, if you want to send me back it’s fine, I’m mostly packed anyway and-” Wilbur interrupts him, tone incredulous.  
  
“Send you back? Why would we do that? You clearly weren’t intending to fight them, they started it.” Tommy gapes at him, tapping his fingers quickly against his other hand.  
  
“But I left without saying anything, and I disturbed your night and- And you shouldn’t want me anyway.” He ends quietly, hanging his head and wiping at his eyes, which are embarrassingly leaking.  
  
“Why wouldn’t we want you?” Phil asks gently, once again kneeling in front of him. Tommy shrugs, pulling his knees to his chest as best he can on a chair without a back, and when Techno’s hand comes up to rest on his back, keeping him from falling, he doesn’t flinch away.  
  
“I’m just- I’m a flight risk, and a problem child, and I’m all fucked up inside and out and, and-” He takes a shuddering breath before continuing, “You’ve seen my back, you have to know- You have to realize I’m not worth it. No one keeps me around, not even my own parents wanted me. I’m barely worth the money in first place.” He stops, not wanting to spill any more, his breath hitching and tears still freely falling.  
  
Phil is quiet, eyes sad, opening his mouth carefully. “You’re not fucked up Tommy. What happened to you, what you went through, none of that was your fault. We didn’t take you in for the money Tommy, we took you in because you’re smart, quick-witted, and hilariously funny. We took you in because you made Techno laugh, which is a feat that not everyone can achieve, and you made Wilbur smile in a way I haven’t seen in a long time, and because you deserve to have a home. You deserve to be loved, Tommy, and I don’t care what anyone has told you before, you are worth so much more than a few bucks from the government.”  
  
Tommy hiccups a sob, allowing himself to collapse into Phil’s waiting arms, burying his head in his neck and gripping at his t-shirt, trying to regulate his breathing.  
  
Someone’s hand, Wilbur or Techno’s comes up to his hair, gently brushing through it with long fingers, and another hand comes up to rub at his back, and he twitches at the contact but it feels nice, it feels so nice, and he hasn’t been touched in a way that was positive in so, so long.  
  
He leans into the touch, hazy with comfort and the slight twinges of pain and the overarching exhaustion blanketing his mind. He’s quieted down, eyes closed, and he can feel himself beginning to drift off.  
  
“I’m tired,” He murmurs, and someone (he thinks it’s Techno) huffs out a laugh, not unkindly. “Let’s get you to bed.” Phil whispers to him, and he keens at the fondness in the man’s tone, too far gone to realize it.  
  
He barely registers someone carrying him up the stairs, only leaning into the contact as best he can while half asleep. He’s tucked into bed, and someone’s petting his hair again, and at some point he drifts off completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Sorry if it seemed like I abandoned this fic, I've been really busy, but your kind comments motivated me to finally finish this chapter and get it out, so if you were one of those people, thank you :]


	3. Chapter 3

Things are… better, after that. He’s less hostile, a little more open with them. Tommy finds himself relaxing ever so slightly, and he even starts leaving his door unlocked at night.  
  
It’s a lot, to say the least. He’s never had a home this good before, and he’s still a little suspicious that it isn’t all some sick prank, that one day Phil will get angry or come home drunk or yell or- No. He can’t think like that, it makes his hands tremble and his skin feel all fragile. Like he’s not quite there.  
  
He went to school on Monday. Phil had offered him a few more days to relax, to calm down after the mess that was Saturday night, but Tommy had declined, being alone in the house was something he wasn’t ready for yet.  
  
School was… Well, Tommy wasn’t quite sure yet. No one had said anything, and besides the questioning glances his first day, no one gave him ugly looks or tried to start anything. The boys who had attacked him were nowhere to be seen, and Tommy can only hope they simply went to one of the other high schools in the area.  
  
He even made a friend. His name was Tubbo, and he was weird, and clingy, and had a bee keychain hanging from his backpack, and Tommy absolutely adored him. He’d never made a proper friend before, not one that he got to hang out with like this before.  
  
Every “friend” he’d had before Tubbo had only hung around him for money, or to leech off of when it came to drugs or alcohol. That was another thing that confused Tommy. Phil didn’t drink, and as far as he could tell, none of the people he lived with did any drugs, besides Techno, but he didn’t count that because it was his adderall, that he was prescribed, Techno had said when he’d asked.  
  
Tubbo doesn’t do drugs or anything of the sort either. In fact, Tommy would be downright shocked if he found out the older did, because Tubbo just wasn’t like that. Sure, he had a bit of an out there personality and when he got tired he said some pretty weird things, but no one Tommy was surrounded with seemed to be involved in any of the sort of illegal activity Tommy was used to.  
  
It should’ve been a good thing. Hell, at first, Tommy had been delighted when he’d realized. But after a few more days, he just got really fucking antsy. Now, Tommy wasn’t really into drugs, or drinking, but what he was used to was cigarettes. He can’t remember quite when he’d started smoking, but it was a habit that stuck with him throughout all the houses he’d been to.  
  
He’d had a pack when he’d arrived at Phil’s and he’d finished it a day or two ago, stretching the life of each cigarette out much further than intended, only smoking them late at night, sprawled across the roof outside his window. But now the pack is empty, and he feels empty along with it.  
  
Now that he thinks about it, maybe his shaky hands and overall feelings of offness could be contributed to nicotine withdrawal. He could always walk to the corner store and try to nab a pack, but thinking about that made him feel gross inside, like he was betraying Phil or something.  
  
He should probably tell them, though. He’d only gone through withdrawal once, when he was sent to some juvenile detention facility, and Tommy lovingly thinks of it as “the worst time of his life”. If this was the beginning of withdrawal, the next few days were going to be absolutely miserable, and maybe if he gave a reason Phil and Techno and Wilbur would be slightly more understanding, and hopefully if he wasn’t too awful to be around and he got through it he’d be allowed to stay.  
  
Tommy resolved to tell them in the morning, as it was currently- he rolled over and checked the new phone Phil had gotten him- 2:53am, and he had a feeling waking anyone up at this hour would result in a very dead child, that child being him.  
  
Techno was probably awake, but he wouldn’t be too happy to see Tommy awake so late on a school night, and he’d rather tell them all together anyway. He sighs, rolls over, and closes his eyes, hoping sleep would come soon.  
  
He wakes up feeling hungry, and very, very tired. Sleep hadn’t come to him, not that moment anyway, and he’d spent several more hours tossing and turning.  
  
Tommy rolls out of bed, hitting the floor with a thump and a drawn out groan, laying there wondering if he could fall back asleep on the floor before Wilbur pokes his head in his room.  
  
“What are you doing on the floor?” He asks, somewhat amused. Tommy groans in response. “Okay, well, when you’re done making out with the floor,” He rolls over to look at Wil and gives him the finger, “You can come downstairs. Phil is making breakfast.”  
  
Now that gets Tommy up. He’s starving, even though he ate a full dinner last night. He slips past Wilbur and thuds down the stairs, sliding into a chair at the table and immediately putting his head down, the beginning of a headache pushing at the back of his eyes.  
  
He hears Wilbur slide out a chair beside him, and he vaguely registers Techno sitting down sometime later, but only fully checks back into reality when a plate is set in front of him.  
  
“You alright mate?” Phil asks, “You don’t look too hot.” Tommy sends him a weak thumbs up and digs into his food, some toast and bacon. He eats so fast he almost chokes, and Techno shoots him a look from across the table.  
  
“Seriously, are you alright, I don’t really want to watch a child die today.” Tommy sticks his tongue out at him but turns his attention back to his food and mumbles out a response, almost hoping no one would hear him. “Going through withdrawal. Don’t feel good.”  
  
Of course, the world is a raging bitch, and everyone seems to hear him, for some god forsaken reason.  
  
“Withdrawal?” Wilbur questions, “Like alcohol?” Phil’s eyebrows scrunch up from where he’s standing in the doorway, and Tommy decides he would very much like to go back to sleep.  
  
“No, cigarettes. Haven’t had one in a while and I’ve been all,” He pauses, considering, “Wonky, realized last night it was withdrawal.”  
  
There’s a pause. Tommy stares at his now empty plate, fingers flexing and unflexing in their spot in his lap underneath the table.  
  
“You used to smoke? And now you’re… quitting?” Phil’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Tommy blinks back a headache.  
  
“I’ve been smoking for years but- Yeah, I guess I’m trying to quit. Wouldn’t want to tarnish the Watson family reputation, right? Not a good look to have your newest stray, especially a 15 year old, smoking a pack a day.” He forces out a laugh. They haven’t talked about how permanent his stay will be, and he refuses to keep his hopes up. It’s better to expect it, so when it inevitably happens, it won’t hurt as bad.  
  
Techno is frowning from his spot across from him, phone in hand. There’s silence for a few seconds, and Tommy had resolved to go upstairs and pack the few things he had outside of his bag and get the fuck out of there, when Techno speaks up.  
  
“It says you’re gonna be feelin’ pretty shit the next few days, insomnia, increased appetite, coughing, cravings, shit like that. It should fade after the-” He pauses and squints at his phone, and Tommy realizes he isn’t wearing his glasses, “First five days or so, those will be the worst. Prepare yourself for that.”  
  
Something about the bluntness of Techno’s tone soothes him, no pesky emotions, just hard facts. And then those facts process, and he buries his face in his arms, groaning.  
  
“I already feel like shit.” He laments, voice muffled by his (Wilbur’s) hoodie, the one he never gave back, and he closes his eyes, feeling the just-there pounding of his head.  
  
A hand is on his back, and he jumps, twisting around before relaxing when he sees it’s just Phil. The man gives him a gentle smile, and rubs his back, which he embarrassingly leans into, feeling too self-pitying to care about how pathetic he probably looks.  
  
That was another thing about them that threw him off- how touchy they were. Phil would pull him into quick hugs, Wilbur would throw an arm around his shoulder, even Techno would sometimes ruffle his hair. They did it so casually, thought with how touch starved Tommy probably was it left him feeling drunk with happiness.  
  
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Wilbur’s voice is quiet, cutting through his thoughts, but he looks more concerned than anything else, and there’s no trace of anger on his face, Tommy notes with something akin to relief.  
  
“I didn’t really want you to know,” He starts, rubbing his tired eyes and letting out an involuntary hum when Phil’s hand comes up to scratch at his hair, leaning into it before finishing his half formed thought, “But I didn’t want to get all irritated or sick or whatever ‘nd worry you guys, plus I didn’t- I figured you guys wouldn’t be like- angry or something.” The hand in his hair pauses, briefly, and in the second it takes for Phil to start up again he worries he’s said something wrong.  
  
“Did past fosters get angry about it?” The man questions, and Tommy blinked, considering, before shaking his head.  
  
“Not for me smoking, not really, they usually got more pissy over me smelling like smoke or leaving my cigs out,” He answers, before catching sight of the time and jolting up. “We gotta go, shit, we’re gonna be late for school!”  
  
That gets Techno and Wilbur up, and Tommy shoots up too, regretfully pulling away from Phil in favor of grabbing his backpack and toeing on his shoes.  
  
He meets Techno and Wilbur at the door, Techno drives them to school, thank god he doesn’t have to take the bus, before he’s stopped by Phil calling his name.  
  
He turns, confused, and Phil presses something into his hands. It’s his phone, he realizes, he must’ve left it on the kitchen counter.  
  
“If it’s too much, or you’re feeling sick, call me ok? Your well being is more important than work, I’ll come pick you up, ok?”  
  
Tommy stares at Phil for a second, processing his words, before nodding slowly, a warm feeling spreading through him.  
  
He carefully leans forward, and awkwardly wraps his arms around Phil. It isn’t quite as nice as when Phil initiates hugs, the man always seems to know where to put his hands, but Tommy isn’t experienced at hugging, and he’s slightly taller than the man, making it slightly uncomfortable.  
  
He pulls away after a second, face flushed with embarrassment, Phil staring at him with a slight grin, and they’re halfway to school before Tommy realizes, face pressed to the car window, that that was the first time he’d ever initiated contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update, school has been kicking my ass. I'm trying to get into daily updates, please be patient with me as I figure what the fuck I'm doing LMAO

**Author's Note:**

> Note that this in no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state they are uncomfortable with this type of work I will delete it immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


End file.
